A Case Yet To Be Solved
by 2KillAMb1Rd
Summary: Sherlock hates change. He hates that John has moved in with Mary, but he can't help but feel incredibly happy for him. But when John suggests that Sherlock finds a new flatmate, and he does so, the consulting detective himself changes, and his life turns upside down. No Johnlock romance, just friendship. Rated M for language, and possible later horror/gore. Own OC's will come in.
1. Introduction

**Hello! So this is my first ever Sherlock Fanfiction, so please be supportive!**

**The story that I have recently been writing has come to a sudden stop, as I've got a bit of Writer's Block, so I thought I'd try something new to refresh my memory. My love for BBC's Sherlock came about when the 3rd series started, and since then I can't get enough of it. I've nearly finished the second series, and I'm buzzing!**

**I'm afraid, as much as I love Johnlock, the most Johnlock-y-ness you will get in this story is their friendship; I love Mary too much, so I can't get rid of her! There will be a couple of my own OC's on the way, and once I get into this story I'll start drawing some fan art for it, and I'll put the link to my Deviantart in my Bio when all of that is sorted.. unless it's already there, I'm not sure...**

**Anyway, enough bable, enjoy!**

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><p>February 2014<p>

"John?"

221b Baker Street remained completely silent. The sun shone through the dull paned windows, bringing to view the billions of dust and skin particles that floated through the air.

"John!"

There was a musky smell about the place, pleasant, but unwanted. It was a mixture of herbal tea and and chemicals; the chemical scent coming from the range of test tubes and beakers laid out on the breakfast bar and kitchen counter.

"John?!"

The living room had become increasingly messy; it hadn't seen a hoover in over a month. Discarded newspapers piled up beside the larger arm chair of the two that occupied most of the space in the room, books stacked up on the side desk.

"JOHN?!"

Sherlock lost his patience, striding from his room through the kitchen and into the living area. His eyes darted around with frustration. He'd asked John to bring him a pen almost an hour ago, and didn't enjoy being ignored.

"John, where are you?" The world's only consulting detective called up the stairs to his friend's old room. Old room. Ah yes, now he remembered. Sherlock felt a wave of both annoyance and hurt wash over him. John was now living with Mary, their baby due any day now. The detective often forgot that his ex-flat mate didn't live with him anymore, which he found rather frustrating as he hadn't been for quite some time now.

Sherlock sighed as he dropped roughly into his favourite arm chair, rubbing a hand down his face. He didn't often get tired, but recently he'd become increasingly so. The detective hadn't had a case, a good case, in weeks, and found himself on the brink of getting a proper job just to take his mind off of things. Things such as his best friend moving out. Things such as him often finding himself completely alone.

Sherlock reached over to his desk and grabbed his phone. Still no word from Lestrade about a new case. He thought about texting John, but decided against it. He had his hands full taking care of Mary. Though, despite making her his priority, and while keeping his job, John still managed to find some time for Sherlock. He knew Sherlock couldn't cope without him. He'd be lost without his blogger. They'd go for some cheap Chinese, or John would drown himself in a pint of beer while Sherlock talked and kept a close eye on him, and on the rare occasion, John would allow himself to become involved in one of Sherlock's cases, then blog about it.

John still blogged about the time he spent with Sherlock. Each of his blogs became more meaningful and sensitive, the less time he actually spent with the man. He'd been voted by a reading company for 'Best Blogger of the Year, 2014', the award ceremony to take place at a yet-to-be-decided location in July.

Just when he thought he'd have to take his boredom out on the wall once more, Sherlock's phone stopped him. He looked down at the screen to see that he'd received a text from John.

How convenient, he thought with a sarcastic roll of his eyes as he unlocked his phone to take a proper look at the message.

HOSPITAL - NOW

JW

The consulting detective had to read the message through a couple of times before he could properly deduce it. In his own defence, text messages were a lot harder to deduce than an actual person.

The text was clearly from John, or else it wouldn't have been signed off with 'JW', that much was obvious. Also, John only used capitals if the situation was urgent, and would type out his messages fully without using short cuts. Sherlock racked his brain. Why would John be at the hospital?

He suddenly shot up from his chair and grabbed his coat, charging down the stairs and out of the door without a single word of explanation to Mrs Hudson as he ran to the side of the road and signalled for a taxi. He climbed in the back and practically yelled at the cabbie.

'St. Bart's hospital, and step on it, damn you!'

The baby was coming.

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><p><span><strong>Author's Note<strong>

**Ta dahhhh! What did you all think? Feedback (constructive criticism included!) is very welcome! Sorry it was a bit short, but it's just to get you into the story. I'm already working on the next chapter, so it should be up in the next week, maybe even a couple of days. See you then!**


	2. The Baby

**I hope this is satisfactory, I spent weeks on it! :) Enjoy!**

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><p>"Hey, Sherlock! Over here!"<br>Sherlock turned to see John running down the front hospital steps towards him.  
>"I'm guessing you-"<br>"Come along, John, there's no time for idle chit chat, don't you have a pregnant wife to tend to?"  
>John stopped him and grinned from ear to ear. "Not pregnant anymore."<br>Sherlock was confused. "Did I miss the birth?"  
>"Just," John held the door open for his friend as he entered the hospital. "Not that I would have let you see it anyway."<p>

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><p>Sherlock stared back at the big, blue eyes gazing up at him. The baby wriggled in his arms, squirming and threatening to wail.<br>"Here, hold your arms like this," John demonstrated cradling an invisible baby, and Sherlock copied his actions, however being careful as in his arms he held the little daughter of his best friend. Baby Watson.  
>He looked back down at the beautiful baby, placing a long, slender finger to the palm of one of her tiny hands, a small smile creeping to his lips as the tiny fingers curled around his own with a surprisingly strong grip.<br>"She's perfect," he whispered, looking up and smiling gently at Mary, who was lying in the hospital bed. "I assume she has a name?"  
>Mary nodded and smiled. "Can't you deduce it?" She grinned as he glared lightly at her, allowing his eyes to wander to John's.<br>"Well?"  
>John cleared his throat. "Sherlock, I would like you to meet our daughter, Joanna Sherly Watson."<br>Sherlock's eyes widened. "Sherly?"  
>Mary smiled sleepily. "We thought it was appropriate, seen as you are her Godfather, if you would like to be?"<br>A couple of minutes passed in silence, Sherlock just gazing lovingly down at his Goddaughter. He didn't say anything as he finally got up and walked over to the bed and leant down, planting a light kiss on Mary's cheek and whispering a soft 'thank you'. He looked back at John.  
>"I, uh, well, thank you, John," he mumbled, carefully placing the baby's weight on one arm so that he could hold out his other hand, ready for an appropriate hand shake. But John had other ideas. He swung one arm around Sherlock's neck and hugged him gently, careful of his daughter. Sherlock hugged him back with his free arm. He then turned his attention back to baby Joanna, finding it incredibly difficult to hold back the tears threatening to leak down his face.p  
>"I cannot thank you both enough."<p>

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><p>Sadly John had known that this sentimental side of Sherlock wouldn't last. It never did. He was back to his old robotic self in only a matter of days, leaving everyone feeling very sorry for him.<br>"Sherlock?" John was sat in his old arm chair in his old flat, facing his old flat mate. In his arms his new baby daughter was sleeping peacefully.  
>"Sherlock?" He repeated, calmly. It had taken longer than he had expected, but John finally felt that he truly understood the man in front of him, and new exactly how to handle him in every situation.<br>"Mm?" was all he got in reply.  
>John sighed. He hadn't really thought about where this conversation was going, so he started as simply as he could.<br>"How are you, Sherlock?"  
>Sherlock's eyes flicked up to look at the ex-army doctor. He couldn't recall John ever asking him that question, and he wasn't sure if he liked it. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the gesture, more he didn't know how to answer such a genuine question. How was he? He hadn't really thought about himself properly for a long time.<br>"I'm fine... thank you, John."  
>"No-"<br>"-No, no drugs."  
>"Good. That's good."<br>"Yes."  
>A few moments of awkward silence passed until John decided that he may as well go ahead and say it.<br>"We miss you, Sherlock" No response. The doctor decided to carry on all the same. "Mary and me. We haven't forgotten about you, like you probably think. It's been... difficult. We weren't sure if you really wanted us around anymore, especially with Joanna on the way and-" Sherlock raised a hand to stop him and smiled slightly.  
>"I know, John."<br>"Oh. Okay, then." They sat in silence for a little longer while John thought over what he was going to say next. Finally, the detective was talking, and John had no idea what to say to him. "Mrs Hudson says you've seemed lonely these past few months,"  
>Sherlock raised a knowing eyebrow. "Please don't talk anymore John, you've gotten into that faze where you're just babbling on about nothing."<br>"Sherlock, I'm serious."  
>Sherlock sighed. "John, I don't need company. You know that. I'm on a case."<br>"So my company meant nothing to you? And being informed that Moriarty is back doesn't qualify as a case."  
>"That's not what I meant. I appreciated having you around, I still do. But I don't need company. I could sit for days on end without falling to boredom-" John snorted. "-if I put my mind to it. I don't need a new flat mate."<br>"That doesn't mean you don't want one."  
>Sherlock stood. "There's milk in the fridge. Have as much tea as you like."<br>John frowned and went to stand, but stayed put when Joanna started to wriggle and squirm in his arms. "Where are you going?"  
>"You're thinking. It's annoying." John rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. There was no way he could compete with his friend when it came down to persistence. He just watched as Sherlock threw his coat on and took the stairs three at a time.<br>When he was outside, Sherlock thought about what John had said. Did he want a new flat mate? He did enjoy the company. On the plus side, it would mean he would have someone to ramble to, and even if he was talking nonsense to them, it was better than talking to himself and earning a bad reputation. He would also have someone to remind him to eat and sleep. And there was the rent. But there was the noise, the different smell, the tv, the girlfriends. He wasn't sure if he could cope with it all a second time. Sherlock's head hurt as he ran through the advantages and disadvantages of a new flat mate. The detective didn't see the paint brushes scattered out on the pavement and cried out as he slipped and landed on his back, groaning in pain.  
>"Oh, oh my God! I am so sorry, are you alright?!"<br>The sun shone bright in his eyes, as he looked up to see a blurry figure surrounded by a bright orange cloud leaning over him. He felt two small hands grab his arm and pull, the figure clearly trying to help him up, only to slip them self and collapse onto the floor in front of him, landing on a tube of paint and squirting the light blue substance over everything. Including Sherlock.  
>"Oh, Christ! I am so so sososososo sorry!" The figure babbled, getting up again and moving the brushes and paints. A small crowd had gathered, a couple of people laughing, some genuinely concerned for the two of them.<br>"Here," the figure moved behind him and grabbed his arm from there, helping him heave himself up from the pavement. "I am so sorry, sir!"  
>Sherlock brushed his coat down and stood tall. Now at his full height, he stood nearly a foot and a half taller than the young woman in front of him, noticing with a smug smirk that she barely reached his shoulder. She was small, slim and pale, her cheeks pink and dotted with freckles, which travelled over the bridge of her nose as well. Her big, light blue eyes sparkled in the sun under her dark eyebrows. She had a small streak of yellow paint along her jaw bone, clashing with her lightly tinted, small red lips. But what really caught Sherlock's eye, was her bright ginger hair, wild and curly, hanging over one shoulder in a large, loose plait. He decided she was in her early 20's, judging by her youthful skin and the style of her clothes.<br>"Please," he smiled thinly, holding out a hand. "Sherlock Holmes."  
>The woman looked shocked and took his hand in her smaller one, shaking it enthusiastically. "Sherlock Holmes... geez, you're that detective aren't you? The one everyone talks about. I love your blog! I used to read it all the time and... Oh, sorry, I'm babbling again-"<br>"Don't worry about it, I happn to know someone else who can't stop talking sometimes." he murmered, giving her a half smile. The ginger haired artist stared at him for a moment, speechless, before taking her hand slowly out of his.  
>"Charlotte Gibsley." she mumbled, almost in a daze. "And I'm really sorry about your coat, I'll pay for it to be washed."<br>Sherlock shook his head in an attempt to be polite. "No need, I can wash it back at my flat."  
>"Are you sure? 'Cause I feel really bad and-"<br>"Honestly, it's fine."  
>Sherlock stared at Charlotte, reading her. He unconsciously hummed quietly with amusement when he noticed the scattering of blue paint on her nose, replacing the freckles. He was brought back to reality when she shifted uncomfortably under his blank stare. He looked to the ground, running his deductions round his head. <em>Poor girl.<em>  
>"Can I at least buy you a coffee?" She offered, folding up her easel and dropping paints and brushes into a bag. Sherlock watched her and thought about it. She really did want to make it up to him, and there was no doubt that she wouldn't leave him alone until he said yes. To be fair, she had ruined his coat, although he could easily replace it. He rolled his eyes eventually.<br>"If you must," he sighed, receiving a gleeful grin.  
>"There's a place I like just around the corner, come on!" And she was off, bag over her shoulder and easel tucked under her arm. Sherlock realised he hadn't actually seen what she was painting. Huffing slightly at his previous thoughts being interrupted, he followed, easily catching up with his long strides.<p>

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><p><strong>So, sorry I haven't been around for a while, but I've been extremely busy with school and exams etc etc.. I hope you all enjoyed this, it took long enough to write! I've already started on Chapter 3, so that should be up in a few weeks (no promises), and I've also started on some fanart for this fic, soI'll let you know when I've got that up on my Deviant page (link is in my bio).<strong>


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